


maybe i just see you (in everything)

by epicbubbles



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Aang/Katara, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Past Abuse, Pining, Rated T for swearing, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, and a leetle bit of, bc drama, but veryyy vague, sokka and zuko are roommates and they go get ice cream bc why not, toph knows whats up (but she's only mentioned like twice lol)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicbubbles/pseuds/epicbubbles
Summary: “Here,” Zuko said, picking up a quarter someone had left on top of a parking meter. He took the umbrella from Sokka and gave him the quarter in return, pressing it in his palm. It was cold.Sokka’s hand closed around it, and he wanted to say something. Wanted to say, this is your day. This isn’t supposed to be about me right now, dude. I try to take you out for ice cream and you, dramatic idiot that you are, bring me gallivanting around town and give me some sort of half-crazed, quirky movie scene...what? Love confession? Shit, this is a love confession? Is this a love confession?or:Zuko's feeling sad, Sokka wants to make him feel better, and what's better than ice cream on a rainy, cold day? (Ft. impromptu and kind of awkward love confessions, and also gummy worms)
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 469





	maybe i just see you (in everything)

**Author's Note:**

> So I would just like to say, this vaguely deals with Zuko's past abuse/the trauma he might be dealing w from it, but I don't know if I handled it in an appropriate/good way, so if there's anything that stands out as something that needs to be changed, I would really appreciate hearing that. I'm very lucky to not personally know about those sort of things, so please tell me if I've approached it in a bad way or something. 
> 
> um. yeah i wrote the majority of this in the middle of the night, im sorry if you can tell. (get ready for lots of commas and ellipses, babey)
> 
> anyway, enjoy :)

It had been a gross, rainy March day, and Sokka came home from work tired and ready for it to be the weekend already. He dropped his bag on the carpet and collapsed on the sofa without bothering to take off his shoes.

“Why the fuck did I decide to work  _ and  _ go to school, Zuko? Why, if you  _ knew _ I would regret it like this--and I bet you did, I swear you did, in fact--did you let me go ahead with it? It’s...” he paused, and looked up to the little kitchen area of the apartment where he knew Zuko was standing. Zuko didn’t seem like he was listening. Which, frankly, was a little offending, considering Sokka was telling him some pretty important stuff. He tried to crane his neck up so he could have a glimpse of Zuko’s face.

It was kind of a known fact at this point, how pretty Zuko was. Like,  _ yeah, _ Sokka had fantasized about running his fingers through that hair, or maybe building some sort of temple so he could give that jawline the worship it deserved. But it wasn’t weird or anything. Zuko was pretty, and Sokka wasn’t blind.  _ We been knew _ , as his friend Toph would say. Well, Toph actually  _ was  _ blind, but that wasn’t really the point and anyway there were more pressing things at hand. Because, no matter how pretty Zuko did look, his hoodie sleeves pulled over his fingers, he also looked...kind of  _ sad _ .

“Hey dude, are you good?” he called into the kitchen.

“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine,” came Zuko’s voice.

Sokka sat up. Zuko was  _ something _ , but a thing that he most definitely was not was fine.

Sokka wrestled his shoes off and walked to the kitchen.

Zuko was eating peanut butter out of the jar with a butterknife, his face half-hidden under his hood. He had a little smeared on his sleeve.

“Hey, buddy. It’s. It’s okay, yeah?” he reached out awkwardly and put a hand on Zuko’s arm, who tensed a little but didn’t pull away. “Do you want to talk or anything?” 

Sokka had known Zuko for a few years. They had met at the tea shop Zuko worked at, because Katara had an unhealthy matcha obsession and a tendency to drag Sokka along with her everywhere. They ended up hanging around in the cozy, quiet shop over many weekends, and Sokka would hang out while Katara embroidered or took Instagram photos of her drink or whatever. 

They would go there often enough that the staff started remembering him and Katara, and so Sokka started talking with them whenever he had nothing better to do. Mainly he would talk to Zuko, because Zuko was quiet and Sokka liked a challenge, and also because he was hot. Zuko would always be there, looking down and hiding behind his hair, and Sokka made it a habit to tease him about the cute little apron he had to wear.

Zuko was very reserved at first, slowly he opened up and he and Sokka became pretty good friends. (There  _ was _ the small fact that Sokka had a huge, raging crush on him, but that was neither here nor there). They spent so much time together they were basically attached at the hip, and so when Katara moved in with her boyfriend Aang, and the same weekend, Zuko’s roommate, Jet, moved out of town, it was like the universe was pushing them together. Well, that was what Sokka liked to think. 

They had been living together for a couple years now, and it was good: Zuko would do the dishes on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and whenever he thought Sokka had done a bad job. Sokka would do his laundry at three in the morning and then do Zuko’s as well because he wasn’t going to sleep anyway, and they would sometimes watch Netflix together on Katara’s account because she never bothered to reset her password after moving.

But anyway. Point was, Sokka was a person who was...invested in Zuko’s wellbeing, to say the least, and he was personally obligated to Have His Back, whenever and wherever the situation called for it.

So, now, he stood in the kitchen, hand splayed on Zuko’s arm, while Zuko avoided his gaze and scraped peanut butter off a knife with his teeth in a way that was unnecessarily distracting. Sokka blinked and grabbed his arm harder, feeling the warm skin underneath a nubbly layer of fabric.

“Zuko. Hey, snap out of it, bud.” He gently reached up with his other hand and waved it in front of the other boy’s face, which seemed to do the trick. Zuko turned to him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I--nevermind. Sorry, Sokka. And, um, sorry about the peanut butter, I can buy us a new one.”

‘What? No, I don’t care about the peanut butter,” Sokka said. “How are  _ you _ ? Because, and really, sincerely, no offense, you look like shit. Which is a pretty hard look for you to pull off, so…”

“What?” Zuko watched him in the harsh kitchen light, and Sokka gazed steadily back. They clung to each other for a moment, anchored in some sort of metaphorical storm, before the moment got too awkward and they looked away.

“You look really down, Zuko. I--here, come sit on the couch, and let’s talk.” He gently pried the jar of crunchy peanut butter out of his hands and set it down on the counter. He led Zuko away by the elbow like he was some sort of medieval damsel and Sokka was leading him through a palace, except in this case the palace was just really the space between the kitchen area and the living room, and Sokka was pretty sure Zuko wasn’t a damsel. They sat on the sofa awkwardly.

“So,” Sokka said finally, “is there anything you wanted to talk about?”

“I mean,” Zuko said, “It’s just, you know,” he gestured vaguely at the scar on his face, and Sokka’s heart sank.

“It’s the sixteenth, isn’t it.  _ Fuck, _ I can’t believe I  _ fucking forgot _ . Zuko, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no, don't...it’s fine, really.”

“No. It’s not,” Sokka replied, scooching closer. 

Sokka hadn’t known the story of Zuko’s scar for, understandably, a pretty long time. He  _ had _ known that Zuko had moved to live with his uncle halfway through sixth grade, and that he didn’t ever talk with his other family. And he had assumed things, as one does. But he never knew just how everything had spiralled out of control, when it all went too far. Until, of course, Zuko had told him. He could talk about it with Sokka now. He didn’t flinch when people lit matches near him, or approached him from his scarred side, but every once in a while…

Last year on March sixteenth he had been fine. Last year, Sokka had remembered, and heavily hinted at it over breakfast, but Zuko just waved it away. So Sokka left it alone. Iroh stopped by that night with takeout and they watched a movie and Sokka had carefully watched Zuko’s face the whole night, but he seemed...just fine.

But things could change.

Sokka breathed in and then out. “Zuko, it was super fucking lame of me to forget, and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Zuko. “I’m sorry, I should just...get over it.”

Sokka wanted to leap up and yell that he was wrong, or sob and wrap him in a hug, but he managed to sit still. He looked at Zuko straight on again. 

“First off, you have as much time as you need to process everything, and you should never feel pressured to...get better, or some shit.  _ No.  _ And if anyone says otherwise, I’ll...do some really bad stuff to them. And then second--” he stopped himself because it looked like Zuko was about to say something, but he shook his head and motioned for Sokka to keep going.

“Okay, second? You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, mkay? Don’t feel like you need to say sorry for everything, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.” He held his finger up to get his point across. Zuko went a little cross-eyed looking at it, and Sokka felt his heart twist a little.

Zuko fidgeted, pulling his sweatshirt closer around him--Sokka’s sweatshirt, he suddenly realized, the huge ugly one he took from his high school’s lost and found because it had been there for months, proclaiming “It’ll Quench Ya” in letters that looked suspiciously like Comic Sans. Sokka wondered if Zuko had worn it before. 

Again, they looked at each other, and it was awkward, because Sokka had forgotten, and because there was peanut butter on the corner of Zuko’s mouth he wanted to reach out and wipe off, and because Sokka’s hand was fucking  _ still  _ on Zuko’s arm. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sokka asked. Zuko’s remaining eyebrow furrowed a bit. There was a beat, and then, looking a little surprised at himself, he said:

“Actually...I don’t think so. I’m not as overwhelmed, I guess. More…” his voice faltered, but he took a small breath, “stuck. Or...frozen, maybe. Every year I kind of feel like I  _ have _ to be affected by this, but...”

“But we both know Ozai is a soulless, rotting pile of garbage who did an evil thing and there’s nothing that can be done about it,” Sokka finished, and carefully watched Zuko’s face to make sure he wasn’t overstepping. But Zuko’s eyebrow just gently smoothed out again.

“I...yeah.”

“So maybe we need to do something. Like, forget about this.”

“I guess.”

Sokka could think of quite a few things they could possibly do, but there was no way he was gonna say something like  _ that.  _ Finally he nodded and wiped his palms on his jeans with an air of finality. “Okay. Zuko? We’re going to get ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” The corner of Zuko’s mouth quirked up unwittingly, like it wasn’t the best thing Sokka had seen all day. “But it’s all rainy and cold.”

“Well, there’s really not much you can do when it’s super rainy. I mean, we could recreate the kiss scene in “The Notebook,” if you’re down. Always wanted to do that.”  _ What the fuck. _ Sokka really needed to get a better control over his filter. But Zuko just shook his head.

“Sokka, you’re so  _ weird _ .”

“Me? Weird? Blasphemy. But...do you want to get ice cream? Because if you don't, that’s also fine.”

“No, ice cream sounds good.”

“Great. And on the walk--because we are going to walk, it’s good for you, shut up--we can talk all about random stuff and also about how eating peanut butter from the jar is acceptable, but not when you use a butter knife. Like. There are spoons  _ right  _ in the drawer, dude.” He got up and grabbed the umbrella, then opened the front door and ushered Zuko out of it, stepping out behind him.

It really was rainy. Sokka regretted not grabbing a jacket or something, but he just sighed and locked the door behind him. 

He turned to open the umbrella, and caught sight of Zuko. He was standing on the little pathway that led from their door to the parking lot, his face turned up toward the sky. He was blinking, his eyelids naturally shuttering against the cold air and stinging droplets, and his mouth was just a little bit open. 

Sokka stared. The raindrops were sprinkling Zuko’s hair like glitter, the eyelashes on his good side dark against his skin. His scar was a bright smear in the dreary afternoon, and it looked kind of like a flower, a hibiscus or a dahlia or something, blooming reddish petals outward over the edge of his cheek. Which Sokka realized was a thought that was kind of weird, not to mention Katara might tell him he was romanticising abuse or something. But it  _ did _ look like a flower. It might’ve been a product of hate and pain and Zuko’s shitty, repulsive-ass excuse for a father, but right there in the middle of the parking lot? Sokka just wanted to touch it gently, or paint it’s likeness with watercolor. And, as pathetic as it sounded...Sokka wanted Zuko to feel like it made him beautiful.

“What?”

It took several moments for Sokka to realize that he had been staring for the better part of a minute and Zuko had just asked him a question.

“Uh, nothing, nevermind.” He opened the umbrella and shuffled nearer to Zuko so they could share it as they walked. “Why the heck do we only have one umbrella? We’ve lived here for years, have we always just shared this?”

“I guess,” Zuko answered. He turned to face Sokka, and took a deep breath. “Look, I know you feel bad about forgetting and all, but it’s really okay. Like, I just...get like this every once in a while, and it’s not your responsibility to deal with me. We can just keep a good stock of peanut butter or something.”

“Well, I guess, as far as coping mechanisms go, peanut butter isn't all too bad. But that’s beside the point!” Sokka handed the umbrella to Zuko so he could make gestures as he talked. “I am your friend, Zuko. It  _ is _ my responsibility to help you feel better, even if I’m the only one holding myself to it. I feel really, really guilty about forgetting, but I also know that me apologizing will only make you feel worse, so instead we are going to get ice cream and have a good time, and then maybe later we can make a drawing of your dad and throw kitchen knives at it.”

Zuko visibly relaxed at Sokka’s light tone. He snorted. “I’m not sure I trust you around knives ever since what happened with the potato and the stuffed--”

“Excuse me, but let me remind you that that is a  _ forbidden topic _ , and you swore to never mention it again, you absolute... _ knave _ .” Sokka pushed his shoulder against Zuko’s and he laughed aloud, actually, right there on the sidewalk.

“Knave?”

“I don’t know, we were talking about knives, and the two words are phonetically similar, so it must have just come to mind first--oh, shut up,” he said, as Zuko buried his chin in the top of his sweatshirt and fought a smile, and Sokka fought the warm buzzing his stomach with about as much success. Which is to say, not much success at all.  _ You idiot _ , Toph would tease.  _ You absolute idiot, you're  _ gone  _ for him.  _ Like Sokka didn’t know.

They walked further into town, past the dollar store with the huge posters in the window, and the funny-looking modern art piece that doubled as a bike rack on the street corner. The movie theater down the block was just turning on the flickering light bulbs around it’s marquee sign, and the shine reflected on the wet pavement and back up into the gray, gray sky. Sokka held his breath, trying to feel the constant warmth of Zuko at his shoulder without leaning into it, trying to keep taking steps down the sidewalk without falling into stride with him. He did, anyway, and it felt like falling into place.

“You’ve been carrying that for a while, I can do it,” he said, reaching for the umbrella handle and brushing Zuko’s cold fingers as he grabbed it. “Hey, are you warm enough?”

Zuko put his hands in the front pocket of the hoodie. “Well, I mean, my hands are a bit cold, but just because I was holding the umbrella. The rest of me is fine. It’s March, Sokka, not December.”

“Oh, but I wish it were December,” said Sokka yearnfully. “Then it would be Christmas. I love Christmas.”

“I know, Sokka,” said Zuko, and maybe it sounded fond or maybe Sokka was just looking too hard.

“Remember last year, when Aang wanted to get me a dog, because everyone knows I’ve always wanted a dog, but then he ended up just keeping it himself, the little shit? He just went and got himself attached, that’s how it is.” 

“I know, Sokka. I was there.” Zuko was smiling.

“Well, yeah, but you’re actually glad we didn’t get Appa, so the story’s not the same coming from you. Dude, I know you’re happy we didn’t get him,” he said when Zuko raised his hands in defense, “you just think he’d be another thing to deal with, and you know what? You don’t even deserve Appa anyway.” He put his nose in the air but watched Zuko out of the corner of his eye, and was startled to see him looking right back. They kept walking, and Sokka listened to the rain pattering on the umbrella.

“You know, I don’t care if you think I don’t deserve Appa. Besides, I already have my own annoying pet who lives with me and leaves his mess everywhere,” Zuko said.

“Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

Zuko was really grinning now. “You know, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. You smell as bad as a dog most of the time. You shed perhaps even more than one, judging by the hair I had to pull out of the drain last week. You need attention all the time, you practically go into cardiac arrest whenever you smell something edible--” 

“Okay, now you’re just being mean,” said Sokka, feeling the tickly thing in his stomach again. He shook the umbrella and closed it as they reached the front door of the ice cream place. “You keep saying things like that, and I’ll stop being so nice. You know, up till now I had been planning on paying for your ice cream? Guess I’m going to have to reconsider.”

Zuko shrugged and grabbed the handle, swinging the door open. “Really, I mean it,” said Sokka, “Or would you rather I just embraced my so-called, dog-like tendencies? People are gonna think it’s weird if I start licking your face everytime I see you. Just know,  _ you  _ asked for it..”

“Wouldn’t be that much different from most teenagers these days, to be honest” Zuko replied, and Sokka was glad they weren’t facing each other because he could feel himself blushing.

He stepped into the shop, tucking the umbrella under his armpit, and Zuko came in after him. Even for a chilly day, there were quite a few people inside the already small room, and Sokka was forced to stand very much inside Zuko’s personal space bubble to accommodate for the crowd. 

“What are you going to get?” Said Zuko, warm and directly into Sokka’s ear, which decidedly  _ did things  _ to Sokka’s insides. He turned his head to answer and found he was standing closer to Zuko than he thought he had been; their noses were almost brushing. Zuko had an eyelash on his cheek. It took a second for Sokka to remember he was supposed to say something.

“Uh, I don’t know. Probably something I won’t be able to finish.”

“Yeah, that’s to be expected.” Zuko had lowered his voice on account of their proximity, and Sokka carefully didn’t think about the slightly rough sound of his whisper and how hot it was.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” The question was really only a formality, he knew Zuko would spend forever fretting over what flavor to get and not make a decision until the person behind the counter was visibly annoyed. He would go back and forth over flavors, and then regret whatever he got as soon as he ordered it. Sokka thought it was a bit adorable.

Zuko eyed the menu. “I’m not sure yet.” He chewed at his lip.

Just like Sokka had predicted, he still hadn’t decided on what flavor to get by the time they reached the front of the line.

“What would you two like?” The girl behind the counter asked. Zuko was looking increasingly more and more concerned, his eyes flitting between the different flavors written on the wall.

“Hey, chill out. I can order first.” Sokka pushed his shoulder against Zuko’s and smiled at the girl, who grinned back good-naturedly. Sokka ordered something huge, chocolatey, and covered in gummy worms. It was something Katara would have sighed at, which was really half the reason he ordered it.

“And what can I get for you?” Asked the girl, looking to Zuko. Her name tag read  _ Jin _ . 

“Um...the green tea ice cream, if that’s okay? And just one scoop.”

She nodded. “And would you like a cup or a cone with that?”

“A cup, I guess.”

Sokka turned to him incredulously. “Dude, you can’t be serious. That’s  _ so  _ boring. Not to mention that their cups aren’t compostable or even recyclable. Think of the baby turtles you’re killing! Uh, no offense,” he said, turning back to Jin. 

She giggled. “None taken. You guys are adorable.”

“Oh, I  _ know, _ ” Sokka teased. He reached up to pinch Zuko’s cheek, who blushed furiously and batted at his hand.

“I guess I’ll get a cone then,” he said, and Sokka beamed.

Ty Lee scooped their ice cream and handed them their respective cones, wrapped in little white napkins. They paid, and carefully maneuvered their way out of the line so they weren’t blocking anyone.

“You do know that girl thought we were a couple?” Zuko said as Sokka put the umbrella on a seat beside him. Sokka...well, froze. Not unlike the to-go cartons of Butter Pecan lined up in the freezer behind him.

“She did?”

“Well, why else would she say ‘you two are adorable’?”

“I don’t know...can’t two guys be adorable in a not gay way?” Sokka ate a gummy worm that looked like it was about to fall off the top of his ice cream.

“I’m just saying I’m pretty sure she meant it that way. Also neither of us are straight, so…” 

“Well, yeah,” Sokka conceded. “But it’s not a big deal or anything, right?”

“What? No, I didn’t mind at all! Well I mean, not that I’d want--I mean, not that I’d  _ not _ want, of course--to be...uh, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka shoved him playfully, but inside he felt a stupid little twinge of disappointment. “I get it, buddy.” He sniffed dramatically. “No one’s ever gonna want to be with me. Sad, single Sokka, alone until the very end.”

He meant it sarcastically, of course, but Zuko looked at him incredulously.

“Are you kidding? I mean, you’re--you’re-- _ you _ . You could--you deserve--” he stopped, blushing, at Sokka’s confused eyebrow raise. 

“Why are you doing the--” he motioned at his own eyebrow, getting a little ice cream in his hair. “It’s true, Sokka. You...you’re. Just. You’re  _ everywhere _ .”

“I’m...everywhere?” Sokka could feel his own cheeks heating up, too, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

Zuko bit his lip. “Just,” he took a deep breath, looking determined, “here, look.”

And with that, he grabbed Sokka’s hand tightly and pulled him up, out of his chair and through the room.  _ What..the holy shit _ . Sokka very carefully held his ice cream near to his chest so it wouldn’t touch anything as he was dragged along. Zuko’s hand around his was a little awkward--Sokka had to bend his wrist uncomfortably--but the press of Zuko’s fingertips against the back of his hand was more than enough to make up for it.

“What, exactly, are you showing me?” He asked, as he was pulled out the door and into the rainy weather.

“I just--you need to  _ see _ ,” Zuko said, and Sokka caught a glimpse of himself as they passed a window: wide-eyed and holding a dripping cone of ice cream. “Because, because, you don’t even know it and you’re... _ right there _ ,” he said, pointing at the top part of the decorative, greek-style columns outside of a hair salon. “Just there, the corner of the petal part where the paint has cracked a tiny bit?”

Sokka didn’t really get it yet, but he nodded mutely.

“And you’re there,” he said, leading him further down the street and pointing out a display of glittering, cracked-open geodes in the window of another store. 

“And there.” This time it was a little rivulet of rainwater running down the pole of a streetlight. Sokka touched it wonderingly, watched as the droplet’s surface tension burst as it came into contact with the tip of his finger. Maybe.  _ Maybe _ …

“Where else?” asked Sokka, in a cracked kind of voice, trying to convince himself the question wasn’t selfish, he wasn’t holding onto the things Zuko was showing him as desperately as he knew he was.

Zuko looked at him, and there was a sort of shift. A quiet, wordless  _ thing _ passed mutually between them. For the life of him Sokka couldn’t help the feeling of pop rocks fizzling in his intestines, sparklers in his lungs.

“Here,” Zuko said, picking up a quarter someone had left on top of a parking meter. He took the umbrella from Sokka and gave him the quarter in return, pressing it in his palm. It was cold.

Sokka’s hand closed around it, and he wanted to say something. Wanted to say,  _ this is your day. This isn’t supposed to be about me right now, dude. I try to take you out for ice cream and you, dramatic idiot that you are, bring me gallivanting around town and give me some sort of half-crazed, quirky movie scene...what? Love confession? Shit, this is a love confession?  _ Is  _ this a love confession?  _

But Zuko just kept walking. His grip had loosened a little, the flush faded from all but the tips of his ear. “Here,” he said, the corner of his mouth turned up again, running Sokka’s fingers along the rough bark of one of the dogwood trees lining the street. “Here,” he said pointing to one of the poems taped up in the window of one of the public library branches.

“Here,” he said, not pointing to anything but just walking, now side-by-side with Sokka, towards where the street they were on dead-ended into a gravel parking lot. They probably made quite a picture: soaked through their clothes, holding wet ice cream cones and each other's hands. 

The gravel lot had a set of wooden stairs descending from one side of it, which they took, and then they walked the little path over a grassy bluff and down to the pebbly shore of the sea. They faced each other, framed by the gray clouds and the gray water and the seam of the horizon. Tiny waves curled like pencil shavings at his feet. Sokka could feel the water coming into his shoes.

“You,” said Zuko, like the beginning of a sentence. He didn’t finish it.

“ _ You _ ,” said Sokka, like the end of one. 

“One second,” said Sokka, grabbing Zuko’s ice cream out of his hand and jogging over to a trash can. He dumped both of their cones in it and only felt a tiny bit regretful.

“Hey, I was planning to eat that, after,” Zuko called. Sokka turned around, damp wisps of his hair whipping against his neck and face in the wind.

“After what?”

They approached each other, pebbles crunching under their feet. Zuko took his hands out of the pocket on his sweatshirt. Sokka dropped the quarter he had been holding and saw it flash brightly out of his peripheral vision, flipping over in the air as it fell onto the rocks. 

If his life was a movie, Sokka thought dimly, this part would be a wide shot. He took another step. Another. They stopped, facing each other, close enough that Sokka could hear Zuko’s intake of breath. He gave himself a tiny fraction of a second to freak out, then slowly reached forward and took Zuko’s face between his hands.

They stared at each other. The wind shifted direction and rain swirled around them weightlessly for a moment, like confetti or plastic flakes in a snowglobe.

“I am so sorry for everything you’ve been through,” he whispered, tucking his pointer finger into the crook of skin where Zuko’s good earlobe met his cheek. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed to not care, or ever said the wrong thing.”

He ran the fingers of his opposite hand along the ridge of burnt skin on Zuko’s other cheek, tracing it almost to his hairline. 

Zuko seemed to be looking for what to say. 

“I think…” he began finally, “I could have been okay for a long time.”

“But you weren’t.”  _ And that’s okay _ , Sokka wanted to say. 

_ Maybe I didn’t let myself _ , Zuko said silently back. 

Zuko hummed in acknowledgement. Of both the said and the unsaid words, Sokka thought. He could feel it vibrate against his hands.

“I wasn’t. But I think I might be.”

“You…‘might be’ what?”

“Okay for a long time,” Zuko said, turning his head into Sokka’s hand and  _ laughing _ . Sokka almost peed his pants it was so glorious, and then, like the immature little kid he really was, laughed at the thought of one peeing their pants and then there they were. Noses almost brushing, two boys, giggling and snorting like they hadn’t known they could. 

“You made all that up as you went along, didn’t you,” Sokka accused, breathless. “Quarters and poems and shit. You didn’t really do all that beforehand.”

Zuko shrugged. “If you want to think that. Or maybe I just see you in everything.”

“That’s the grossest thing that you’ve ever said,” Sokka breathed, and kissed him.

It was hesitant at first, wet from the rain and sea spray, and it was somehow better than anything like it that Sokka had ever made up in his head. (It also had a distinct lack of fireworks and chocolate syrup, unlike the things Sokka made up in his head.) It was cold and sweet and as bright as the quarter, tumbling and twisting through the air. 

Sokka felt his heartbeat thrumming through his body, and wondered if Zuko could feel his pulse in his lips. Zuko smelled like peanut butter and kissed like he laughed: a little unsure, waiting and holding it in until it couldn’t help but burst out of him, quick and rough and a little afraid someone would tell him to stop.  _ Don’t _ , thought Sokka.  _ Don’t be afraid, and definitely don’t stop. Like, ever. _

But inevitably, they drew apart after a few moments, gasping a little. Sokka carefully moved his lips from Zuko’s pink-stained mouth to his cheeks, the side of his nose. Each little kiss was like a promise, another word in a secret sentence he was stringing together. They stood, alone on the beach while the tide kissed the rocks and the rain kissed their clothes, and Sokka tried to write a whole book of secret sentences.

Finally Zuko pulled back, and they studied each other, not wanting to tear the delicate sheet of space between them. Zuko’s eyes flicked up, looking skywards into the falling rain, and Sokka was reminded of his tipped-back head and flower-like scar outside their apartment earlier.

It really was fucking unfair how fucking pretty he was.  _ Honestly _ .

“We left the umbrella at the ice cream place,” Zuko informed him.

“Did I taste like gummy worms?” Sokka asked.

Zuko looked back at him, and this time it wasn’t just his scar that looked like a flower. His whole face was opening: his lips, his eyes. He was almost glowing, Sokka would swear it, from under his veins and the keratin of his fingernails, behind the enamel of his teeth. Something that shone like sunlight was stirring beneath his skin, lighting him up from inside like he had swallowed fairy lights Katara had in her room. Sokka wouldn’t be surprised to see, if Zuko opened his mouth, something soft and golden in the back of his throat.

“Yeah,” Zuko told him. “A bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Um so actually, this is literally the first full fanfiction I've ever written/posted. yeah I have no idea why I'm putting it up either, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! and yes i unapologetically did the title (like this). This is literally the one productive thing I've done all quarantine, so...yeah. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this, have a good day/night! and remember to wash ur hands my loves


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